


It’s only Cold.

by TinyPineTrees



Series: Ride the Wind AU [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Cold Weather, Hypothermia to a degree, M/M, Ride the Wind AU, Wind - Freeform, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyPineTrees/pseuds/TinyPineTrees
Summary: Tommy has a closer than average relationship with the wind, so it stands to reason he’d be more susceptible to the cold, especially the wind chill.





	It’s only Cold.

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing When Tommy Met Alfie sent me this lovely, angsty, very chilly prompt! And it’s been bitter outside for two months so I’ve had the perfect weather to write it in!! Thank you so so much WTMA! 
> 
> Abbreviated prompt-  
> Since Tommy is so connected to the wind, when the weather gets extreme, it affects him. If it’s extremely hot, he gets easily overheated. And when it’s extremely cold, he gets cold too.
> 
> I hope it’s everything you wished for and more!!

“Tommy.” Polly stared at him. The wind whistled sharply outside, shrill and bitter. A snowstorm had been battering Birmingham for two days, rolling through and carrying more snow than the city knew what to do with. Easily the coldest storm on record in the last decade. The first few hours had been alright. Tommy’d finished meetings with relative ease, moving quickly through the city despite the building snow. Clients complained over the cold, and runners complained about the ice. Arthur jokingly joined in, complaining of losing Tommy in the deep snow. It wasn’t the snow that was the problem in Polly’s mind though. It was the wind. Always the wind.

 

“Tommy, listen to me,” Polly said, climbing out of her chair and pulling a thick woolen blanket with her. “If it gets bad like last time-”

 

“It won’t get bad.” Tommy cut her off. She swapped her wool blanket for a red cover hung near the fire and threw another log onto the pile, watching closely as it burned. An ingrained, old habit. Salvage whatever unburnt pieces you can, you may not be able to afford more. They could afford to buy more firewood these days, but in a cruel twist of fate, no one was selling it. ‘Out of stock’ was painted and written on every empty wood barrel all the way to South Yardley.  

 

“Have you told Alfie?” He threw a glare towards her, rolling his eyes as her gaze sharpened. “Tell him. You need to go south, or at least somewhere that isn’t this cold.” She grabbed another spare blanket and stepped over to his chair, pushing aside his thick comforter and throwing the warm one over him. He hadn’t stopped shivering yet.

 

They hadn’t had a storm like this in years. The last one still haunted her, stealing through her dreams and twisting them to nightmares. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

 

Tommy had been seven the last time bitter cold like this hit. They were destitute, and Arthur Sr. was nowhere to be found. Mary Anna, their mother, had begged Polly to stay with them. She couldn’t afford to feed them, or keep them warm, but at least one more person meant more body heat. Miserable on its own, and worse with crying children. Waking up to find Tommy frozen though, still haunted her.

 

They’d been so sure to keep the kids warm, as warm as they could. Begging up and down Small Heath, going as far Sparkbrook to find anything. Everything they were given was threadbare, but it was better than nothing. No one knew the impact the wind would have on Tommy though.

 

Throughout the night he’d complained of the cold, crying loudly before slowly quieting as it grew later. Polly had been thankful, thinking he’d fallen asleep and given them a minute of peace, until John had screamed them all awake. He’d rolled over trying to cuddle closer to Tommy, only to find him frozen to the touch, with his eyes open, blank and lifeless. His lips nearly the same color, breathing so goddamn slowly. They’d used every bit of firewood they had to warm him up. Seven year olds aren’t that big, especially stick thin, starving ones. Polly hadn’t known how long it took warm a child that small up, but it ended up taking all night. They’d taken turns holding him and watching, as Arthur huddled in the corner with John and Ada, wondering tearily if he would be down a sibling by morning.

 

She knew better now. Tommy had come around obviously, as he was alive and well, the walking menace of Small Heath. It still clung to her though, whispering in the early hours. Keep them warm. The wind chill is what freezes them. Especially so when someone has a closer than average relationship with the wind.

 

“You don’t remember last time, you need to stay warm.” She tucked the blanket closer to him, wrapping it neatly around him.

 

“I remember it.” He tugged the blanket out of her hand, trembling as he pulled it over his shoulders.

 

“If you remembered it you would tell Alfie, and be planning a trip away from this cold in spite of the business. You truly think we can’t handle it for a week, two at the most?” Polly stared down at him, growing more frustrated by the minute. “It’s called ‘Shelby Brothers limited’, so let your brothers help!” She shouted, throwing her own blanket over him, listening to the wind build outside.

 

It had snuck through the windows, creeping lowly across the floor to circle around him. She huffed angrily, watching as it rose with the wood smoke. Tommy’s shivers grew as it arced over the chair, drifting bitterly down by his ears.

 

“Pol,” A strong tremor ran through him. “It’s just cold, it’s not going to kill me. I’m not seven anymore.” He pulled the blanket up near his ears as if willing the wind to go away.

 

“Thomas,” She paused, her eyes softening as he tried to push the wind away. Miriam’s lessons were giving him confidence. He still couldn’t control it, not to the level he used to, but he was working on it. “Seven or not, cold kills. Go south.”

 

———

 

Tommy stepped over an icy wall of snow, barely clearing it. If it grew any higher he’d need to start wearing wellies. He’d never worn wellies a day in his life, he was too poor to buy them when he needed them and too proud to wear them now. It would be an embarrassment and no one would take him seriously in them.

 

He slid forward, nearly colliding with a lamppost. Grabbing onto it for balance, he righted himself, quickly stepping around the grey slush. The wind tore through him again, sending shudders that never quite left down his spine. This was becoming tedious fast. He could hear Polly in the back of his mind, whispering about the wind chill. He’d barely been outside for an hour though.

 

Alfie had enough on his plate as it was, between Sabini, the snow and business. He didn’t need Tommy’s ‘I’m too cold’ issues. He scoffed out loud. It wasn’t an issue, he had it under control. He was meeting Alfie in a minute, and they’d go to London in a few days. It wasn’t a great deal warmer than Birmingham, but it was slightly more south, and the fog held the cold out better.  

 

Or maybe Tommy just felt London was warmer because Alfie lived there. It was awfully difficult to feel the cold with Alfie wrapped around him.

 

He wasn’t leaving the country though. Not because of a little cold. Alfie had business, he had business, life didn’t stop because of winter or the cold. He paused, stepping gingerly around dirty ice flows and trying to read a snow covered sign. Maybe it read ‘Tilton Ln’, maybe it didn’t. It felt like ice was freezing around his ankles and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. The wind twisted, frigidly cutting through him again.

 

Polly worried too much. Being cold wasn’t an uncontrollable problem, the wind was. Telling Alfie about that had been one of his better decisions.  He wasn’t seven anymore, nor was he rail thin, despite what Alfie, Polly or anyone said. It wasn’t a problem. He huffed out loud, deciding this was Tilton Lane whether it liked it or not.

 

Thankfully it was, as a small, dingy iron yard appeared on his left. From what Tommy knew of it, it was poorly managed, destitute and crooked in more ways than one. Ideal for the Peaky Blinders. If the owner sold, they’d have a clear view on a competing bookmaker gang outside of their territory.

 

He tried to flex his hands, but he’d lost feeling in them as well. Just cold, not dying. Alfie was supposed to meet him here with the owner. He was hopeful that they hadn’t gotten lost. He also hoped the yard had an office, maybe even a radiator. Snow was starting to freeze onto his cap, dripping into his eyes.

 

“Mr. Shelby,” The wind whipped harshly around, nearly drowning Alfie’s voice. “Impossible to get around this fucking town right now.” He could see Alfie struggling to cut through the snow.

 

“Mr. Solomons.” Tommy felt himself smile. Alfie’s eyes lit up as he closed in, his bulk deterred the wind, bringing a brief reprieve from the bitter cold.

 

“Where is this bloke now?” Alfie twisted, trying to peer through the dense snowfall. “Mr. Samson innit?”

 

“He’s supposed to be with you, Alfie.” Tommy tucked his hands under his arms, trying to force the feeling back into them. “Or have plans changed and you didn’t tell me?”

 

“Nah, said he’d meet us here didn’t he?” A car inched passed them, fighting through the ice and slush.

 

“Alfie.” Tommy blinked slowly. “Did plans change-”

 

“No,” Alfie stopped him mid sentence. “He’s coming. He might be a bit more sore than usual is all,” His hands brushed near Tommy’s in apology. “John wanted a drinking competition, and you told him to make Samson feel welcome,” The snowflakes drifted for a moment, catching on slow moving wind. “He might be hungover, but he seems the sort to keep his engagements.”

 

“I told John to show him around, not drink him under the table and leave him hungover.” He took a step back, leaning as he pressing his hands into eyes. He could feel a headache building. The wind twirled miserably, circling near his ears before slinking away.

 

“Still, bit rude leaving potential buyers out in the cold, hungover or not?” Alfie pulled him closer, bringing a hand up behind his neck and dusting off the building snow. He radiated heat. How Alfie managed to stay so warm was beyond him. He pushed down the urge to curl into his arms. They were probably even warmer than his hands.

 

“Christ, Tommy. You’re fucking freezing,” A second large hand joined the first, covering his ears warmly. “We’re going to have to get you a thicker coat.” Tommy’s eyes drifted shut as Alfie trailed off, running through his list of approved London tailors.

 

Alfie’s hands progressed down his neck, rubbing some feeling back into him. Sighing in relief, he wished again that he could just tuck into him. The wind snapped loudly, swinging around Alfie and eagerly barreling closer to Tommy, spinning frigidly over where his hands had been. Chasing away newfound warmth as it settled loosely around his neck. Razor thin blades of ice spun on the wind causing Tommy to tilt his head upward and pull away from the sharpest pieces.

 

“Feeling unfriendly today?” Alfie asked, gesturing at the wind.

 

“No more than usual. Probably just trying to soak up whatever warmth you left.” Tommy’s teeth chattered strongly as the wind crept inside his coat. Alfie’s eyes narrowed, unsaid questions crossing his brow, whispering concern and worry as he eyed the wind and ice. He let Tommy keep his secrets though, thankfully.

 

“Well, let’s get back to Watery Lane soon then. Get you properly warm.” They tilted apart as several people trudged passed them, braving the cold and snow. Safety in numbers. Tommy wouldn’t mind waiting a little while for a client normally, given that it wasn’t more than five or ten minutes. He could smoke and plan the rest of his day then. But the cold had resettled in his bones, creeping up his wrists again and slowly pushing higher. Still only cold, not dying.

 

“Fuck it, reschedule. Been what, 15 minutes?”

 

“Hardly even ten yet.” He couldn’t even smoke, he’d have to fight his hands to light the damn thing, and even then the wind would probably snuff it out. “If you’re cold you can go, I’ll wait for Samson.” He leaned toward Alfie, feeling that this was mostly his fault. He should’ve collected Samson.

 

“Not me that’s cold, love.” He mimicked Tommy, leaning in and blocking the worst of the wind again. “I’m not sure I like you being out in this storm any longer than necessary.”

 

“Business doesn’t stop because of winter Alfie.” Tommy said resolutely. He’d told Polly twice, he didn’t think he’d have to tell Alfie.

 

“Yeah,” Alfie huffed. “But there’s no sense in freezing to death over it.” The headache that had been looming ached sharply, threatening to explode. “Come on Tommy.”

 

“No ones fucking freezing to death Alfie! It’s just fucking cold!” A bitter sheet of wind tore passed them, knocking and nearly tipping them as they slid on the ice. Alfie grabbed Tommy’s arm, keeping him upright as he swung out to cling onto the metal rail bordering the iron yard. The sheet separated quickly, cutting itself into smaller ribbons as it stalked through the air, dragging ice and snow before slinking down to curl around Tommy. Alfie stood still, glancing between him and the wind. He settled on Tommy finally, staring concerningly at him.

 

“You’re frustrated with me.” Alfie said redundantly, letting go of his arm as he found his footing. “But it’s been more than ten minutes.”

 

“I’m waiting. You can go.” Tommy snarled. Alfie gently held his hands up.

 

“Alright, alright. You wait.” He relented. “I’ll be back in an hour though, probably less, got some bakers I have to deal with close by.” Tommy could feel his breathing easing, and the wind letting up as well. Alfie trudged through the snow again, making his way cautiously up Tilton and back onto the main road. A terrible, bitter feeling had crawled through his jacket though, sinking further into his bones. Maybe he should tell Alfie.

 

No, he decided, he’d wait the hour. An hour to complete this meeting and then a short walk home. He could curl into Alfie all night. He wasn’t as thick as Polly thought, he knew staying outside in weather like this would lead to freezing, but the likelihood that there was an office inside the yard was high, and a radiator or brazier was even higher. The amount of people on the street dwindled, not that there were many in the first place, but he was feeling more isolated by the minute. Twenty minutes now since they were supposed to meet, over an hour outside and the sun had begun to set.

 

He waited impatiently for Samson, settling for watching the wind to pass the time. Practicing controlling it as he waited. It felt different though, spinning the wind in Birmingham. When they were travelling he’d made progress, Alfie’d called it amazing progress, but Tommy knew exactly how little control he’d actually regained. The wind in Birmingham was just more difficult to spin. He tamped down on the urge to whisper to it, asking it to listen.

 

Miriam had stressed remembering that it was a natural element. She would tell him every morning, that it had no ears and therefore couldn’t hear him if it tried. Nor did it have eyes, so physically pointing was out too. How do you control something that can’t see or hear you though? He’d felt embarrassingly stupid having to be reminded of that. It was easy to give the wind ears when it wouldn’t listen, and eyes when he pointed. It just chose not to do as he asked. He blinked up at it, watching as it caught the snowfall. Nearly an hour and a half outside now.

 

It spun widely, arcing through the thin strip of sky peeking through the tall buildings. He didn’t know if he was controlling that bit or not. He clicked his tongue at that thought, Miriam’s voice ringing in the back of his mind again, scolding him. He controlled The Wind, not just the wind around him. All of it. The fact that the closest gusts were the most visibly under his control didn’t lessen that all of it actually was. He shuddered fiercely as it cascaded elegantly down the side of a shop, collecting heaping armfuls of snow and throwing it wildly at him and around the street. He tried to move his arms up and brush it off but found that he couldn’t. His arms stayed stubbornly out of his control, refusing to budge from where he’d wrapped them tight across his chest.

 

He hadn’t been lying to Polly when he told her he remembered freezing, he did. Maybe he remembered it through a haze though, mostly the painful sensation of waking up. Polly’s terrible tea as well. There was a very comforting part though, a blank feeling he never quite recaptured. After the war he’d have given everything to be in that empty, blank space. Feeling nothing. The emptiness was what made freezing to death such a peaceful way to die.

 

His mother hadn’t liked hearing about the blank space. Neither had Arthur.

 

Fiercely strong shudders rattled his body. The wind curled tightly around him, loudly ringing as it spun.

 

Belatedly he realized his head was on the ground, but he couldn’t remember falling. He must’ve fallen, at least, he didn’t think he was standing anymore. He wasn’t sure.

 

The wind around him broke away, this time to fold into larger sheets, drifting off.

 

Samson wasn’t coming.

 

———

 

Alfie rounded the street corner. His meeting ran too late, going slightly over the hour. Despite his annoyance, and urge to get back to Tommy, he’d weathered the meeting well. Birmingham still teemed with poorly skilled workmen, and these brewers were the best it had to offer. Keeping in their good books for now was a necessity. An icy torrent ran through him, cutting into his bones. Tommy had better fucking be inside.

 

It wasn’t that Alfie didn’t trust him. Tommy was nerve-wrackingly thin though, and easily cold. Especially in storms like this, when the cold never quite left your bones.

 

Alfie had taken to cuddling up closer to him at night, something Tommy had enjoyed full heartedly when he didn’t sense the ulterior motive. Seeing the wind earlier was creating a deeper concern though. He hadn’t really thought it through until he watched the ice circle, thin and deadly around Tommy’s neck. The cold is dangerous, but wind chill is what kills people. Given how cold he had been to the touch, Alfie wouldn’t have been surprised if Tommy was more susceptible to it. Especially so with the wind always billowing about, stealing his breath as it tore through him.

 

Tilton lane appeared once more on his right, although it looked even less accessible now than before. Nightfall had given it a desolate, arctic feeling rather than it’s dingy, destitute one.

 

Pushing on, he stepped into snow covered tracks, dragging his cane before him to spot ice. The iron yard wasn’t far from the cross street, but it felt miles away in the silence. Unease clawed up his spine the closer he grew, crawling anxiously across his shoulders. There were no lights on near the yard. No office building giving off even the dimmest glow. He couldn’t see how much snow had actually fallen, but it was collecting fast. Coating his hat and sleeves in record time.

 

He spotted the thin metal rail bordering the yard, but not Tommy. There was a disturbing lack of wind as well. This street was a loud wind tunnel on a good day, and practically impossible to walk through on stormy ones.

 

He spun on his heel, peering through the snow and darkness, praying he’d spot his lazily smoking Shelby. No such luck. He stepped closer to the yard, poking his cane through the snow, searching for Tommy this time, rather than ice. Tommy would’ve found him if his business was finished. He knew the brewers Alfie dealt with. He wouldn’t have stayed out in the cold, stubbornly freezing. Or maybe he would. Or what if he had frozen before he could make a decision? Worries escalated into fear, running wildly through Alfie’s mind.

 

His cane tapped gently on something small and black. The air knocked completely out of his lungs as he leant down. Tommy. It was Tommy, curled tightly, arms hugging his middle as closely as possible. Alfie tore a glove off, reaching out by his nose to feel if he was still breathing.

 

Unbelievably slow, but he was breathing.

 

———

 

“Here we go,” A whisper brushed near his ear. Tommy’s eyes slid open as everything rocked, swaying precariously like in Uncle Charlie’s boat.

 

“Slowly now Tommy.” Tommy shuddered hard, struggling to breathe as he was lowered onto a bed. That was Alfie’s voice, it had to be. His eyes shut again, trying to sink back into the peaceful, blank space. His jacket was pulled off, his waistcoat and trousers followed quickly. A deeply uncomfortable sweater was pulled over his head then, burning at his arms and sides. It was too hot. Someone burst into the room, or maybe the wind threw the door open.

 

A large hand was on his face, prying his eyes open again. “Keep your eyes open for me Love,” It was all a rush of colors though, nauseating and loud. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the disorientation. “You’re alright, Tommy, you’re alright.”

 

“Here.” Polly, he was sure that was Polly. Her voice cut through his confusion, leading him to feel safer at least. Heavy, burning blankets covered him, sending painful shocks around his middle. No, he definitely wanted them off, he’d take no feeling over the stabbing feeling.

 

He blinked his eyes open again. Focusing with the single-minded purpose of pushing these fucking blankets off. Colors ran all over the room, colliding into a distorted mess as he tried to concentrate. One of his arms jerked free finally. He could hear more noise now as well, louder than before, but making even less sense. His arm was slowly listening, trying to lift this ungodly heavy blanket. How was it so heavy? It’s a blanket. He managed to grasp the edge, forcing his eyes to narrow in on his hand.

 

“Stop, Stop Tommy.” Stop what? It hurt, he wanted it off. His arms were pushed down again, crossed and laid against his chest. “You’re safe, we’re working on it, just trust us for a minute Love.” He did trust them, he just wanted the blankets off. He successfully tugged one of his arms out again, a new piercing pain running through his body giving him more control over his limbs than the numbness of the last few hours.

 

“Knock him out!”

 

“No, he might not wake up!”

 

“Everybody get the fuck out!” Alfie’s voice won out, exploding around the room loudly, sending Tommy’s brain scattering and his arm limp again. The hand was back on his head, gently running through his hair, it was still too hot. He pushed at it again.

 

“I know, I know Sweetie,” No, he didn’t know. If Alfie knew he was in pain he’d pull the blanket off. Alfie didn’t like when he was in pain. Tommy was sure of it. He couldn’t know the blanket was bad then, but Tommy didn’t know how to get that information to him, he wasn’t even sure if they’d been speaking English. He didn’t think Alfie spoke Romani, but he couldn’t remember. He dredged up every bit of strength he could find, focusing on the monumental task of talking.

 

“Off,” Tommy tried. Except it came out slurred, and hardly English. Not helpful, Alfie needed full English. Why was this so difficult?

 

“Tommy?” The piercing stung harshly then, disrupting his concentration and forcing him to focus on pushing away the pain. Words had descended to random noise once more, ringing at different volumes.

 

He tried to collect his thoughts and organize the colors into shapes, but it was maddening. Everytime he pushed his arms out they were tucked back under. It felt like hours passed, caught in this frustratingly confusing mess. His only measurement of time was the stabbing pain in his middle, progressing, crawling achingly outward down his legs and arms.

 

A sharp memory stole through his mind, forcibly reminding him of the last time he felt like this, and subsequently what had to have happened.

 

“No, no, you’re alright Tommy,” Alfie’s hand carded through his hair again. “Just relax.” No, it wasn’t alright, absolutely not alright. Polly had been right, he should’ve told Alfie. He hadn’t thought it was cold enough to bring him down. He really hadn’t.

 

The heavy blanket was lifted, sending him reeling and Alfie murmuring gently to him. Another blanket was laid over him again. This one wasn’t as awful as the first, but still too hot in his opinion. His arms and legs stung, but it had settled into a dull ache. His chest wasn’t as tight either. Things were coming more into focus as well. Alfie and Polly’s concerned faces, a very large fire in a small iron heater, and several wet looking clothes and blankets.

 

“Feeling better?” How Alfie knew how he was feeling was beyond him, and how he’d answered him when he couldn’t string a sentence together confused him, but he was willing to ignore it for now. The blankets were becoming more pleasant quickly.  

 

“You’ve been under those blankets half the night Tommy. I think this is the first time you’ve been mostly lucid. Can you feel all your fingers and toes?” Polly leaned in, almost crawling over Alfie. He flexed his fingers and toes nervously, dreading the fiery burning rush through his veins. Alfie’s arms tightened around him, cooing softly to him again as the pain slowly dulled again. When had Alfie taken ahold of him?

 

“Good. Look over here.” He hadn’t answered her first question though, or maybe his face had shown his answer. His eyes followed her hands dutifully, trying his best to have one steady stream of movement. The nausea had lessened considerably, but moving his eyes all over was bringing it back.

 

“You found him quick enough, he’s going to be fine.” He could feel Alfie’s sigh, watching as the weight lifted visibly off of his shoulders. “You’re at home Tommy, repeat for me where you are.” Polly leaned back, watching him carefully. He breathed in slowly, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he felt was her hardest challenge. He knew he was at home, doubly so as Polly just told him, it was a difficult, forcing his mouth to work. It very clearly didn’t seem to want to. He lifted his head though, willing to give it a try.

 

“Home.” He was fairly certain he hadn’t said home, maybe he’d said wagon in Romani. Close enough in his opinion.

 

Alfie’s arms slid down slightly, pulling him closer nervously. She nodded, accepting his answer either way. Stringing a thought together was becoming easier, much better now than how ridiculously confusing it had been earlier at least.

 

“Come get me if anything happens through the night. I’ll keep the light in the hallway on.” She climbed off the bed, collecting wet clothes and blankets as she walked. “Swap out a new blanket soon.” With that, the door shut with a soft click.

 

The room, which had been a sweltering before, was now peacefully warm. With blankets, and Alfie’s arms settled snugly around him, he felt logic finally return to him. Alfie seemed to sense that as well. Twisting slightly, as he rubbed a hand up his back.

 

“You may not like it Love, but business will be taking a break, on account of the cold.” Alfie’s hands slid down his sweater. Why he’d felt it was uncomfortable earlier before was beyond him. He’d been gifted this sweater a few months ago, and though he’d never admit it, it was his favorite. Plush and dark red, Alfie had knitted it when they’d been travelling. He’d originally balked at the color, but Alfie thought it brought out the red in his cheeks. Not that he blushed regularly. Or ever.

 

“I do not ever want to find you collapsed in the snow again. Nearly gave me a heart attack you did.” So he had fallen. Or maybe he’d sat down, he really couldn’t remember. “Fucking awful. Lo and behold this has happened before too I hear.” Tommy felt guilt curl in his stomach, the wind roused with it, climbing sleepily up from the behind the headboard.

 

“I didn’t,” Tommy tried, this time the words seemed to organize themselves, coming out mostly clear. “Not on purpose.”

 

“Purposeful or not, can we make a deal where you warn me if you’ve nearly died from something before?” The fire sparked as the wind explored, dancing around the bright flames. “It doesn’t have to be drawn out, a simple, ‘This nearly killed me’ will do. I won’t make an event of it, but knowing makes a difference. Knowledge is a very valuable thing Sweetie.” He nodded, knowing full well that Alfie would make him verbally agree in the morning.

 

“Alright. A deal’s a deal.” Alfie nodded as he pushed himself upwards. He quickly grabbed the blanket draped near the fire, replacing it with the now cool one. He was surprisingly fast, laying it gently over him and climbing back into bed, straightening out quickly to lay on his back. He pulled Tommy closer then, settling him comfortably once more.

 

“Sleep?” His eyes had drifted shut several times as Alfie spoke. Exhaustion slamming into him, slowing his already glacial feeling recovery. Or maybe it was speeding it up. His breathing was normal again. And the pins and needles feeling was receding more and more with time.

 

“Polly thinks you’re out of the danger zone, so I reckon you’re alright. Been getting you back to a proper temperature all night, bloody heartbreaking listening to you while you’re in pain. Let’s try to avoid that.” So that’s how had Alfie answered him, he’d been whining. “Don’t go running off into your head, you were completely out of it, I’m beyond thankful you made any noise Tommy. Silence is much worse in these situations.” Alfie mumbled, bringing a hand up, cradling his head.

 

“Alfie,” Tommy sighed, dragging his hand up to take ahold of Alfie’s free hand. Alfie smiled, gently grasping it once he realized Tommy’s intention.

 

“Polly says it’s tea for you for days.” Alfie chuckled as he grimaced. “I’ll help enforce it, we don’t want Shelby-no-fingers. That’s how Ada puts it, innit?” He was fully prepared to reply, ‘Yes, but she likes the tea.’ but he was asleep before he could get the words out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading my wall of text, the amount of research I’ve done is staggering. Also, Brazier here means an on fire trash can. But that isn’t posh at all and my Tommy likes the nicer things. So... brazier. Please comment below if you enjoyed it! It’s unreal the amount of joy I get from reading them! Thank you again WTMA!


End file.
